Sanctuary
by Lana Coombe
Summary: Buck comes to realize just what his job with the Pony Express means to him.


**Sanctuary**

He fought the bitter taste of bile, which rose in his throat, thrusting it back down to his gut. The burning sensation, holding his chest in its constrictive grip, caught his breath as he tried to draw much needed air into his over burdened lungs.

Crouching down low, behind a clump of prairie grass, he tried to steady his breathing and the pounding in his head. Gulping in mouthfuls of the warm, spring air, his thoughts turned to his half brother, Red Bear. There had been times when they had been out hunting together and he had run just as hard, so as to keep up with his older sibling, his chest had burned in much the same way and he felt he would burst with the exertion. He remembered tracking one particular deer. Red Bear released an arrow, striking it in the side but the creature was strong and fled, forcing them to follow at a great rate, hoping to catch up with it sooner rather than later, to alleviate the animal of any further unnecessary suffering. By the time they found the fallen deer, he had been totally exhausted, his legs trembling like reeds in a breeze, his arms limp, hanging from his body like the last leaf of Fall.

After taking care of the deer and making an offering to Mother Earth, Red Bear turned to his younger brother. Clasping him firmly on the shoulder, he smiled broadly at him. "You were named well, my brother, Running Buck. One day you will be a great hunter." He remembered swelling with pride at the words.

But that was then and he wasn't hunting now but being hunted.

The sun bore down on the back of his neck, the heat clawing at him, draining him of the last remnants of his energy. He tried to ignore the prickling dryness in the back of his throat but it was not so easy to dismiss. Flicking his tongue across his parched, cracked lips, he tried to keep the images of cool running water at bay, which flooded his mind. Even the trough water that Teaspoon bathed in would be tempting at this moment in time.

Salty sweat ran down his face, trickling into his eyes, making them sting. He swiped his brow with a dusty shirtsleeve and cursed having lost both his bandana and his hat, which would have offered him some protection from the relentless sun.

Having stopped running, he regained his breath, realizing only now how much his feet were hurting. He regretted giving up his soft moccasin boots in favor of the more heeled pair he now wore. His long, black boots were ideal for the many hours he spent on a horse; the heel ensuring his foot didn't slip through the stirrup and the soft leather protecting his inner calf against rubbing from the saddle. What they were not good for was running. The narrow toe was constricting, his ankles were unable to move freely and the soles slippery and did not grip the ground. They were slowing him up. He'd be better off without them, he concluded.

With some reluctance, he sat on the ground and pulled off his boots, carefully hiding them in a large clump of grass. They were a good pair of boots, costing him a week's wages. He'd collect them later, when he had a chance – if he had a chance.

As he sat, taking a couple of seconds to compose himself, the slightest tremor reverberated through his hand resting on the ground. He knelt down and put his ear to the hard, sun baked earth. He winced at the unmistakable rhythmic thud of hoof beats. A fleeting moment of panic gripped him. He obviously hadn't managed to hide his trail as well as he had thought. They were only a short distance away. If he was to have any chance of escape he couldn't afford to lose his nerve now. Getting into a crouched position, he scanned his surroundings. With eyes keenly honed, to detect any sight or sound out of the ordinary, he could just make out the rise of a slight dust cloud on the horizon.

Getting to his sock clad feet, he kept his head low and picked his way carefully through the scrub, affording himself as much cover as he could find in the flat, surrounding area. His body still felt drained but the adrenalin, born of fear, which coursed through his body, gave him some modicum of renewed energy. Fixing his gaze upon a point in the distance he began to run. He covered the ground with long, easy strides, maintaining an easy gait, which swallowed up the ground but expended a relatively low amount of energy. His brother had taught him well. He ignored the stabbing pains in his feet, caused by thorns and stones on which he inadvertently stepped. He had one aim and that was to get where he was going as quickly as possible and to get there in one piece.

He ran as straight and swiftly as the terrain would allow, leaping rocks or grass clumps in his direct path, keeping up the pace for nearly half an hour. It wasn't that much further. The landscape became more and more familiar. If he could just keep going a little longer he'd be there. Scanning ahead he desperately searched for signs of his destination.

Suddenly he heard the pounding of hooves bearing down behind him, getting increasingly louder. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the five, fast approaching riders who now had him in their sights. Digging deep, he drew on every ounce of will power he had left and ran faster than he'd ever run before. His efforts were rewarded as a familiar silhouetted shape rose up from the skyline. His heart pounded in his chest as he focussed on his goal.

He was nearly there. Never before had he felt he had a place to which he could run, somewhere that gave protection, a home. The Pony Express way station provided this and more. It offered sanctuary.

"Rider come…." Cody stopped mid call. He had seen movement, so had assumed it was Buck returning from his run, as he was overdue.

Standing up from the chair in which he had been relaxing,on the front porch of the bunkhouse, Cody peered out at the scrubland and realised that it was indeed a rider coming, but a horseless one.

"What the hell's he doin'?" he muttered to himself, his brow furrowed in consternation. "Hey, Jimmy. Buck's comin' and I reckon he's got trouble," he called out to his fellow rider, who was resting up inside the bunkhouse after a run. Joining Cody, Jimmy rubbed his eyes and followed the fair-haired rider's gaze. He had to agree things didn't look, or feel right. Frowning, he watched Buck running and stumbling towards them.

"Something's wrong, that's for sure," he mumbled, as he buckled his gun-belt before walking purposefully down the porch steps. Cody ducked inside the bunkhouse and retrieved his rifle and quickly caught up with Jimmy, who had already covered a fair bit of ground between the way station and Buck.

As he drew near, they noticed the Kiowa's dishevelled and exhausted appearance and there was no way they could miss the look of grateful relief upon their fellow rider's face on seeing them both. Buck suddenly tripped and would have fallen to the ground had Jimmy not caught hold of him.

"What in hell's goin' on, Buck?" Jimmy demanded gruffly.

"Where's ya boots?" Cody queried, as he joined them.

Buck clung to Jimmy's arm, gasping for breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort. He looked up at his friends, his dark eyes full of anxiety and distress. Casting a look behind, he pointed with a wavering arm.

"What?" Jimmy asked insistently. Buck gulped more air and mumbled something Jimmy couldn't quite catch. It was then the group of riders appeared in the distance.

"Who in hell are they?" Cody asked in consternation.

"Get Teaspoon," Buck rasped.

"He ain't here. Everyone's gone into town, apart from me and Cody," Jimmy told him.

"I take it these fellas mean trouble?" Cody asked, lifting his rifle and taking a step forward. Jimmy drew his gun also.

"Mind fillin' us in on what's going on here, Buck?" Jimmy growled.

"Don't think we've got time for no story tellin', Jimmy," responded Cody, as the riders drew ever closer, the pounding sound of the horses' hooves echoing across the scrub. "Reckon we ought to get back to the cover of the bunkhouse," he called over his shoulder, as he lifted the rifle and looked down the sites at the approaching group.

Jimmy wrapped a strong arm about Buck's waist and started to guide him back towards the buildings. Cody followed, backing up, keeping a close watch on the riders.

They made it as far as the yard before they found themselves confronting five, scruffy, unshaven and mean eyed men. Cody kept them at bay by pointing his rifle in their direction, as they formed a semi circle around the threesome.

"Well, looky here, boys. They done got our Injun," the large, bearded man at the centre of the group sneered.

Cody narrowed glacial, blue eyes at the man." There ain't nothin' here for you, mister," he told him forcefully.

"Well, I say there is. You got our Injun there," the man continued, leaning on his saddle horn, sneering at Buck.

Jimmy moved protectively in front of Buck, who was trying to stand as stoically as he could, but sheer exhaustion threatened to make him topple over any minute.

"He ain't anyone's Indian. He's a friend, so you'd best leave," Jimmy snarled, unwaveringly.

"Come on now, boys, be reasonable. He ain't worth the trouble. Heck, he ain't even a proper Injun. He's just a no good half-breed. We just want a little fun, is all, so hand him over and we'll let you two alone."

The click of Cody cocking his rifle answered the man.

"I wouldn't do nothin' foolish, sonny. There's only two of you and five of us. Just hand him over and no-one gets hurt."

"The only person who's gonna get hurt is you, mister, unless you turn around and leave," Cody said evenly.

"You wanna get shot? That savage really worth gettin' killed for?" the man returned, sitting up straight on his horse and clasping the butt of the gun strapped to his leg. The other four riders did like wise.

"Won't matter to you as you'll be the first one to die," Jimmy repeated, coolly, never taking his eyes off the men, watching for the slightest movement, his every instinct ready for the merest indication the men were going to take things to the next stage of the stand off.

The man smirked and let out a menacing laugh. "Looks like we're gonna have some extra fun, thanks to these two heroes, boys!" The comment was greeted with a cacophony of sniggers and guffaws from the other men.

Cody stood his ground, his expression stony and unreadable. Jimmy flexed his fingers and regarded the men impassively. Buck moved up to stand beside his friends, a look of defiance showing in his dark eyes.

"How's about we give them a chance, boys? Say, a minute's head start? How's that sound? I think we're bein' reasonable here."

The man got no response from the three young men sranding in front of him.

"I'm gonna start countin'," he told them.

Still no reaction.

"One, two, three … You're wasting valuable time!"

Cody flicked a slightly nervous sidelong glance at Jimmy, wondering just how far he was prepared to take this. Buck noticed the look and had been wondering much the same thing. He appreciated them standing up for him but didn't want either of his friends to get hurt on his account. Through no fault of his own, he had brought this trouble to their door. He had thought of this place as being one of safety and it had offered that but at a cost. A cost he wasn't prepared to pay.

"It's me you want. Let them go." His tone was soft but clear.

"Buck, what the hell ya doin'?" Jimmy said, his calm veneer suddenly crumbling momentarily at Buck's words.

Buck started to step forward but Jimmy took a firm hold on his arm.

"We ain't gonna let you do this, Buck, so you might as well stay where you are," Cody added, flexing his fingers over the trigger of his rifle.

The Kiowa's mouth twitched in appreciation at their show of comradeship.

The gang leader's demeanour changed and his face grew stormy. "If that's the way you wanna play it …" The words trailed off and he took a deep breath. In one slick movement he went for his gun but he was no match for Jimmy Hickok who smoothly drew his gun, let off a clean shot, hitting the man in the right shoulder.

Cody swung his rifle from one member of the group to another, defying them to try the same.

Suddenly a shot came from behind them and the rumble of wagon wheels and hoof beats were heard. Teaspoon, Emma and the other riders were returning from town. Knowing they were now out gunned, the five riders let off a few misplaced shots and turned tail and set off, with Kid in pursuit. He soon gave up the chase when it became obvious the men were no longer a threat and had no intention of retaliating.

"What in hell was that all about?" Teaspoon shouted, hauling the buckboard to a stop.

Lou and Ike pulled their horses up and quickly jumped down beside their friends. Teaspoon and Emma joined them, giving them a cautionary look over for any injuries. All eyes came to rest on Buck who stood in a dazed state at the centre of the group. His eyes were glazed and he swayed slightly. The colour drained from his face and his knees began to buckle. Within an instant several pairs of hands reached out to grab him before he fell.

Emma took command. "Let's get him into the bunkhouse." Ike stepped up and lifted Buck's arm around his shoulders and wrapped his own arm supportively about his friend. With Ike's assistance Buck managed to limp into the bunkhouse, where he was gently lowered to sit on his bunk.

"Get him some water," Emma suggested as the other riders crowded around in concern.

"Lordy, give the boy room to breathe!" Teaspoon told them, pushing the riders back a step or two.

Lou offered Buck a cup of water, which he took with both hands and greedily drank in one gulp.

"More," he rasped, holding out the cup with a trembling arm, his eyes pleading. Another was provided and that too was drunk equally as quickly. The cup was held out once again.

"Easy now, son. Don't drink too much, too quick and give yourself a bellyache," Teaspoon told him. The young Kiowa looked up at him with solemn, dark eyes but nodded his head in understanding.

Emma appeared at his side with a bowl and a cloth. "Let's take a look at you and get you cleaned up some, shall we?" she said, kneeling in front of him. Buck realised what a mess he must look. His shirt was torn, there were rips in the knees of his pants, and his socks were filthy from running in the dirt and tinged pink with blood from cuts on his feet.

"Feel up to tellin' us what that was all about?" Teaspoon asked.

Buck winced as Emma started to peel off one of his socks. He reached out and placed a hand on her forearm. "I'll do it," he blushed, embarrassed to have Emma, on her knees, taking care of him.

"Are you sure?" Her words came almost as a plea. Since these boys had stepped into her life a few months previously, she had come to care for them as if they were her own kin.

He nodded in response and bent down to remove his socks but the action was too great and left him gasping for breath. Instinctively, Lou stepped forward. "Let me," she said in her deeper, more masculine voice. Buck gave her a soft, conspiring smile. Once the socks were removed, it was clear Buck's cut, bruised and swollen feet would need to be bathed to ascertain how much damage had been done. Emma went in search of a suitable bowl.

"Looks like you've run a fair distance from the state of your in. What happened?" Teaspoon's voice was low and sympathetic. He hated to see any of his boys in trouble and Buck seemed to get more than his fair share.

"Yeah, Buck, what you do to annoy those fellas enough to chase you half way across the state?" Jimmy had meant to sound jovial but the statement had come across accusingly.

Buck shot the gunslinger a dark, meaningful stare. It had only been a matter of weeks since they had come to physical blows over Buck's sneaking out one night to meet his brother, who also happened to be a Kiowa war chief. They had accused him of being more loyal to his Indian family, when a number of pony express stations had been attacked by his brother's tribe. He had proved his commitment to them by rescuing Ike, who had been captured. Even after enduring a number of tests to prove he was true Kiowa, he had chosen his pony express family over his Indian heritage. He had made his decision to belong in the white man's world that day. If he was truly going to belong here, he had to trust these people as they were coming to trust him.

He felt uncomfortable with six pairs of eyes staring at him intently, waiting for a response. It concerned him that once again he had brought trouble to them. His life had never been easy but he had learned to deal with it in his own way. He wasn't sure how tolerant his friends would be of the trouble he seemed to attract.

Uncertain what he should say, he searched their faces. Ike smiled at him reassuringly.

"Come on, Buck. You must have done somethin' to make 'em come after you like that. What was it?" Jimmy persisted.

"Nothing," he mumbled, disconcerted by the accusing tone.

"Ya must have somehow …" Jimmy started.

"Yeah. I was born part Indian," Buck spat back at him, straightening his back with as much dignity as he could muster.

A hush fell over the room as the words hung in the air. Buck slumped again, the day's events, both mental and physical, beginning to take their toil.

Teaspoon placed a calming hand on the young man's shoulder. "Tell us what happened, son."

Buck turned solemn, dark eyes to the older man. "I lost the horse, Teaspoon. Sorry," he said huskily.

"That don't matter none now. You're here and that's what's important. How's about you tell us how you came to lose the horse and how you came to get them marks?" he said, indicating the red, raw lacerations on Buck's wrists. Teaspoon sat on the edge of the table in the centre of the bunkhouse and crossed his arms and waited patiently.

Taking a deep breath, Buck rubbed his face with his hands. It seemed hard to believe it had only been the previous day this had all started. He looked up at the other riders who watched him expectantly. There was part of him that was embarrassed about what had happened but they deserved an explanation, after all, Jimmy and Cody had put themselves on the line for him.

These people were becoming real important to him and this was where he now belonged. Emma's anxious face confirmed that they truly cared about him and what had happened.

Buck took a swig of the water from the cup he still held, its coolness running down his throat in calming waves, relieving him of the dreadful thirst he had felt and renewing his strength.

Looking into the depths of the cup, the events of the previous day ran through his head. Closing his eyes momentarily, he took a deep breath and opened his mouth to start but his throat constricted and tightened. He wanted to tell his friends but he wasn't sure he could, not now while the hurt was still so fresh in his mind. He wasn't ready to tell them, the indignity and humiliation of the episode was just too much. He clamped his mouth shut and tried to swallow.

"Perhaps later. I'm kinda tired."

There was an audible sigh of disappointment amongst the rest of the riders. Teaspoon narrowed his eyes in concern at Buck but then sniffed and pasted a more amiable look on his face.

"Seems to me you've had enough distraction from work as it is today and Buck here needs to rest up for a while. Those supplies ain't gonna get unloaded on their own now are they, boys? And there's a horse needs shoein' and I'm sure I can find plenty other things to keep you occupied!"

An unenthusiastic groan rippled through the riders as they dragged themselves towards the door, with Emma following. As she was about leave, she gave Teaspoon a meaningful look and a small nod in the young Kiowa's direction before ushering a lagging Cody out of the bunkhouse.

Teaspoon pulled a chair towards Buck's bunk and eased himself down into it. Resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward he looked at the rider intently. Buck's head hung down, his long dark hair covering his face and the clouded expression he wore.

"Son, I know this can't be easy for you and Lord, I know how ya feel. I've had my fair share of bad things happen to me but you need to know this ain't your fault. You've got nothin' to be ashamed of. I guessing you've had troubles in your life and perhaps tellin' folks about them would help. I know it ain't easy but a problem shared an all that and these boys are your friends and …"

"I can't, Teaspoon," came the quiet response from the veiled face.

Teaspoon took a breath and sat up straight. "Perhaps rest is what you need right now, son. You look done in. Get yourself cleaned up. I'll get Emma to bring you over somethin' ta put on them wrists. Perhaps you'll feel like talkin' after you've got some sleep," he said, patting Buck on the knee and getting to his feet.

"You know I'll always be happy to listen, Buck if you ever need to talk, don't ya, son?" he said, before leaving, clicking the bunkhouse door behind him.

Buck stayed slumped in the same position for a couple of minutes after Teaspoon had left, gathering his thoughts. The plain truth of the matter was he wasn't used to telling people his troubles. All the time he was growing up with the Kiowa, he'd learnt early on there was little regard for what he said. His mother had listened but was powerless to do much about the treatment he received from the other children in the village. Red Bear had chosen not to listen so he had given up telling him and had borne the injustice shown to him with quiet acceptance. Even when he went to the mission school, the nuns had looked the other way when the other children mistreated him. It was his 'cross to bear for being born a heathen' they had insinuated but never openly voiced.

It was only when he had met Ike he had finally found some sort of sounding board, someone who listened, didn't judge and accepted his word without prejudice. Ike had stood by him, literally at his side, while he had been abused and vilified. He could not speak out against those who scorned him but his presence had given Buck the strength he needed to face them.

Perhaps it was Ike he needed to talk to now. Pushing himself up to get up, he winced at the sharp pains in his feet as he placed his weight on them. As he tried to stand, the room began to spin and the exhaustion from his ordeal claimed him, forcing him to sit down once more. He was in no fit state to talk to anyone now. He would take Teaspoon's advice and get some rest first.

He considered what he was going to tell Ike. Should he tell him everything? He didn't want his friend to think he was looking for sympathy. There again, Ike hadn't been able to tell him and the other riders about the time he'd witnessed Nickerson kill those people on the stagecoach. He'd come round though and they'd all worked together to help Ike bring Nickerson to justice – even though it had nearly got Buck killed!

Should he only tell him bits of what had happened? Was it fair to just tell Ike and not the other riders, especially Jimmy and Cody who had put themselves at risk for him? It could be that by telling them they'd do something stupid, like think about going after Herne and the other men – especially Hickok. He couldn't risk it. His head swam with the questions he asked of himself. He wished he could sleep but his mind kept turning back to the events of the previous day. How could he possibly tell them what had happened to him? He doubted they would understand what he had gone through, due merely to his status of birth.

Lying back on his bunk, he thought about how it had all started….

_The town of Willow Springs had been quiet when Buck had ridden in late morning to deliver the mail. Although keen to get back to the way station, his horse needed to rest and they both needed something to eat. After leaving his mount at the livery, where the owner knew him and would take good care of the chestnut mare, Buck made his way to the saloon. He knew he would get served, as the Pony Express riders used it fairly regularly and Seth, the bar tender, never had a problem with him being there. At the same time he was pleased it wasn't busy in the establishment. Having ordered his sandwich and sarsaparilla, he sat in a corner at the back of the room, so as not to draw any unwanted attention his way._

_The only other people were an older man with a grim expression, nursing a whisky, a couple of cowhands standing at the bar and a group playing poker at one of the tables._

_Having finished eating, Buck surreptitiously got up to leave and slip back outside. He was half way across the room when one of the poker players noticed him._

"_Well, looky here, boys. Got ourselves a real live Injun!"_

_Buck cringed inwardly but maintained his outward composure and, ignoring the man, continued on his way._

_The ominous scrape of chair on wood floorboards made him stiffen with anticipation and he quickened his pace._

"_Now Herne, you leave him be," Seth called over. "He's alright. Works for the Pony Express."_

"_Hear that, boys? Takin' a white man's job. He'll be takin' our women next!" one of the men remarked, the comment laced with menace._

_Buck had nearly made it to the door but they weren't going to let him off so easily._

"_Hey boy, we're speakin' to you. Ain't you got nothin' to say for yourself?" Herne called out._

_Before Buck knew what he was doing, he turned to face his tormentors. "Didn't think you'd be too interested in what I've got to say," he retorted boldly._

"_You've got a smart mouth on you too, huh, boy?" Herne sneered and made his way towards Buck._

"_I don't want no trouble in here, so let him be. He ain't doin' no harm," Seth interjected._

"_Him just bein' Injun's enough trouble for me," Herne responded, glaring at the Kiowa, who stared back, stony faced, eyes dark and unreadable, standing his ground._

_The other members of the group got up from their seats and began to surround Buck. Images of the time he had been in a similar situation, when at the Mission school, came to mind but there was no Ike to help him this time._

_Buck clenched his fists and waited to defend himself from the blows he knew would come, aware he was well and truly out numbered._

_His attention was suddenly drawn by the sound of heavy footfall on the boardwalk and the creak of the saloon swing doors being opened behind him._

"_Someone care to explain what's goin' on here?" a voice boomed. Sheriff Logan filled the doorway with his large frame. He was an imposing man who kept firm control in the town, with both his physical presence and stern manner._

_Herne faltered. Even with four men to back him up, taking on the sheriff was not a good idea._

"_There ain't nothin' goin' on here, Sheriff," he told the lawman, while his companions slunk back to their seats. "We're jus' havin' a little fun, is all!"_

_Logan glowered at Buck. "Think you best be on your way," he said decisively. Buck bobbed his head compliantly and slipped past the lawman. Logan had no love loss of Indians but this particular one had never caused trouble in his town. Herne was unknown to him but he'd seen his sort before and knew how to handle him. "Have another drink, boys," he said, nodding to Seth who dutifully poured five drinks._

_Not wishing to hang around town longer than necessary, Buck decided to get back on the trail and stop somewhere further along. His horse wasn't fully rested so didn't push it. Come sundown he bunked down for the night near Wilson Bluff. _

_The night hung still and quiet, low clouds shrouding the earth, filtering the pale moonlight. Buck felt comforted by the stillness and appreciated the dim light the moon provided. Settling onto his bedroll, he eventually let the apprehensions of the day pass and managed to drift off to a relatively restful night's sleep._

The click of the bunkhouse door interrupted his reminiscing. Emma entered, carrying a bowl and some clean cloths, which she placed on the table before turning to look kindly at Buck.

"Now, let's take a look at these hands, shall we? Don't want them festering none. Best to get 'em cleaned up and sorted," she said in her usual no nonsense manner. Buck merely nodded meekly and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk, holding out his wrists to her, resting his elbows on his knees. He kept his eyes fixed on his hands, not wanting to show Emma the hurt he knew showed in his face. She didn't need to see it. His countenance told her exactly how he was feeling.

Pulling up a chair, she carefully took his left hand in hers and wordlessly began to wipe away the dried blood. Once it was clean, she rinsed out the cloth and started to wipe away the blood on his other wrist.

"Buck," she said softly, "you know you can talk to me whenever you want? I care about you and all the other boys. If there's anythin' I can help you with, ya let me know, ya hear?"

Buck silently nodded his reply and sat passively as Emma rubbed liniment on his wounds and wrapped clean bandages around his wrists. When she had finished, she gently touched his cheek and smiled softly at him. He raised his eyes to meet hers and she could clearly see the pain and confusion he held inside.

"Get some rest now. I'll keep you some food for later when you feel up to it," she told him as she tidied away the bowl and cloths before slipping back out of the door.

It had been a long time since any woman had shown him such kindness - not since before his mother had died. The nuns at the Mission school had seen to his basic needs but there had been no affection in their care. Emma was the first white woman who had not shunned him and had in fact made him feel welcome. Most women avoided him, thinking he was just a heathen savage, judging him by the colour of his skin, wanting nothing to do with him. Emma had looked beyond his dark skin and seen the person inside, and for that he would be eternally grateful. She had given him a chance, just as Teaspoon and the other riders had, offering him a place to belong.

The guilt of bringing trouble to them, because of what he was, returned. Perhaps it had been wrong to come back here, bringing those men with him. Where as, in the past, he would have had nowhere else to turn, he now felt he had a place to go, a place to belong. He was grateful to have found such comradeship and knew he would stand up for any of his friends if they were ever in trouble. It was, however, hard to imagine any of the other riders being treated the way he had been by those men. He would only feel shame telling them and he didn't need their pity, so what was the point?

He suddenly felt very tired and lay back on his bunk, his forearm across his eyes, blocking out the strip of sun that trespassed, beyond the curtains, into the bunkhouse. Shutting his eyes, he willed sleep to come but the images of the previous day's events returned once more.

_A sharp, jarring pain in his ribs had brought Buck abruptly awake. As he opened his eyes he looked up to find five, loathsome faces leering down at him._

"_Well, looky what we got here!" Herne's repertoire hadn't increased or improved any. Rough hands grabbed Buck by the collar and hauled him to his feet. "It's our Injun friend from the saloon."_

"_What you want?" he asked, his eyes darting from one man to another, his trepidation increasing by the second. The men's faces were hard and brutal, worn and creased with cruelty of a hard life. He could find no sign of empathy in any one of them. They had obviously passed the evening and probably most of the night in the saloon by the smoky, alcohol stench, which emanated from their grubby, stained clothes._

"_We just want a bit of fun, is all," Herne told him. Buck felt himself tremble slightly, knowing their idea of fun was more than likely going to hurt. Lifting his chin defiantly, he kept his breathing steady, trying not to let his fear show. He would not let this worthless scum degrade him. He was Kiowa and proud of it. There was little he could do to stop what was about to happen but he could endure it with dignity and courage, or so he tried to tell himself._

_One of the men grabbed his hair and yanked it back while another took his gun from its holster and hunting knife from the sheath strapped to his left boot. Buck clenched his jaw and took the larceny silently._

"_Not got much to say for yourself now, boy, do ya?" It was Herne again. Buck struggled to pull free from the other man's grip and looked Herne straight in the eye, only to be grabbed again and have his hands pulled behind his back. Before he knew what was happening, Herne punched him squarely in the belly, doubling him over with the blow._

"_I said, ya don't have much to say for yourself, do ya, Injun?" the large man said loudly and deliberately. _

_Buck let out a gasp as the air was driven from him and his knees began to collapse with the impact of the punch but he was hauled upwards again. Herne grabbed his shirtfront, forcing him to look at him, pulling Buck's face to within an inch or so of his own._

"_You understand what I'm sayin' here, Injun?" he spat._

_Unable to fully catch his breath, Buck nodded his reply._

"_Good! Then you'll understand this. You're a worthless piece of Injun shit. You ain't fit to breathe the same air as me let alone be in the same saloon. Got it?"_

_Buck held his head high and stared back at the man. Incensed, Herne backhanded the Kiowa, driving his point home. The other men snickered as a bead of blood oozed from the corner of Buck's mouth._

"_What we gonna do with him, Herne?" one the other men asked eagerly._

"_Well, Tyler, I'll tell ya, we're gonna go huntin'!" Herne grinned. "Find out just how good an Injun he is."_

_The other men grinned enthusiastically at the suggestion._

"_Can ya run, Injun?"_

_Buck stared at him incredulously._

"_I hear Injuns can run all day and never git tired. That true? I guess we're gonna find out," Herne leered at Buck, who regarded his tormentor disdainfully but, behind his dark eyes, his mind was whirling, trying to figure a way out of this mess._

_Herne returned the look, running his eyes over him with contempt until they came to rest on his medicine pouch. He picked it up, turning it over in his fingers and wrenched it from Buck's neck, making him flinch as the leather thong whipped across his skin._

"_What have we got here? Some sort of Injun magic?" he said, pulling the pouch open. Buck watched helplessly as Herne emptied out the contents of the pouch, to be carried away on the breeze, before letting the pouch drop to the floor where he heeled it into the ground._

"_Aw look, I gone and done dropped it! Hope that ain't gonna slow you up none. Injun? We's looking forward to a good chase."_

Buck winced involuntarily at the memory and lifted his hand to his chest but all he touched was the smooth bare skin and the rough line of the scar, which Red Bear had given to him. Buck felt this held some significance – the pouch was gone and all that was left of his Kiowa heritage was a scar, given to him by a brother he loved dearly but who had told him to never look back. The cruelty he had been shown by the white men who had tormented him had seemed to sever his last links to his Indian past.

His new home was here, at the Pony Express, with a bunch of equally displaced individuals, each looking for their own way in the world. He had made that decision the day he had walked away from his brother.

He lay back in his bunk, reassured at the security it offered, despite the missing pouch. The sounds of the other riders' muffled voices drifted in from the yard, where they were carrying out their afternoon's allotted chores. The sound was comforting and Buck once again wondered if he should share the details of the incident with them.

Cody's voice suddenly cut through the air. "It ain't like he's not used to bein' treated this way, just 'cos he's an Indian. Seems to me it's just gonna keep happenin' so he's just gonna have to get used to it!"

Buck didn't clearly hear what was said next. Cody's words had knocked the wind out of him like a physical punch. It was possible these people didn't care about him as much as he'd thought they did. Telling them what had happened wouldn't help matters so it was probably best to stay quiet and 'just get used to it' happening because, as Cody had so rightly pointed out, he was always going to be Indian. Nothing was going to change that so there was little point in him telling them what had happened to him as there was nothing they could do about it now and wouldn't be able to stop it happening again.

This wasn't to say it didn't disturb him, never knowing when trouble would come his way, just because he was a half-breed. He just wondered how much longer he could put up with it, or indeed survive. What had happened to him had shaken him and he closed his eyes and shuddered at the memory of what those men had made him endure.

"_I tell you what, I'm feelin' kinda generous today so we're gonna have us a drink and we'll give ya a head start. Say about ten minutes? How's that sound?"_

_Buck had looked at Herne in confusion, not quite understanding what he was supposed to do with those ten minutes he'd been so generously given. He was still being firmly held by the arms by two of the men but he was suddenly released and given a shove in the back._

"_Well, ya better git goin', Injun 'cos yur wastin' time," Herne told him, as he produced a bottle of whisky from a saddlebag._

_Taking a hesitant step, Buck backed away from the men._

"_Hell, if ya don't git a move on it ain't gonna be no fun. We'll catch you up in no time at all!" Herne quipped._

_Buck chanced a glance over his shoulder at the open ground behind him, deliberating the best way to head. _

_As he tried to make his decision Herne shouted out, "God damn it boy, I said run!" _

_Before Buck could quite comprehend what was happening, Herne had drawn his gun and let off a couple of shots at the Kiowa's feet. Needing no further inducement Buck began to run, the sound of drunken laugher echoing in his ears._

_At first his only thoughts were to get far away as quickly as he could but then the realisation that he'd never be able to out run the riders dawned. He'd have to hide his trail and call on all his tracking skills to lose the hunters. The next question was where he could run, as he'd only be able to keep going for a certain amount of time. If he ran to the West there was better cover up in some rocks but it took him further away from Sweetwater, which lay further to the East. There were some homesteads located along the route but he could not be sure of receiving help from the occupants, especially when confronted with a mob of drunken bigots._

_There was only one place he could be assured of getting help. It would be quite a distance to run but it was his best option, he reasoned. He needed to get to his Pony Express home station._

Buck opened his eyes, reassured to see the dimly lit interior of the bunkhouse and took a deep breath, thankful he had managed to make it back and was safe. Glancing about the room, he smiled to himself at the familiar trappings of his fellow riders. Cody's buckskin jacket hung on his bunk, a can of gun oil and cloth on Jimmy's, a pad of paper on Ike's, Lou's journal and a book on Kid's. This was becoming a real home to him but it didn't alter what had happened and his mind wandered once again to the details of the incident.

_He kept running, a deep set instinct of survival driving him forward. The ground vibrated with the pulsating beat of the approaching horses' hooves and he sensed their closeness long before they came into view._

_Laughter and jeers filled the air, mingling with the sound of his own laboured breathing rattling in his head. He staggered on, looking for some way out, some means of escape, some way of evading the hunters. It was hopeless. There was nothing but open ground ahead. Buck prayed to the spirits for guidance but they were not listening. His medicine pouch was gone and with it went his wavering faith._

_A sharp jolt to his back, from a boot, sent him sprawling to the ground. He managed to scramble away from the horse's flying hooves, on his hands and knees, as the other riders encircled him._

_Staying low, to avoid more kicks, he looked up at the riders, his sweat drenched hair plastered to his face, his mouth gaping, his breathing laboured, trying to draw more air._

"_Have to hand it to ya, Injun, ya done better than we thought ya would! But not far enough, huh?" Herne commented._

"_I thought Injuns could run faster than that!" one of the men taunted._

"_Maybe he don't run so fast 'cos he's only a half-breed!" another one mocked._

_Loud laughter filled the air as a whisky bottled was passed between them._

"_Aw come on now boys! Be fair. The boy done pretty good. Took us longer than I expected to catch him up. He runs near as fast as some cattle I've roped." A wicked glint shone in Herne's eyes. "Wonder if he's as difficult to rope as steers?"_

_The implication of the man's words dawned on Buck and his eyes widened in alarm. Covertly scanning the area, he looked for anything, which might offer some protection or defence. Still nothing._

_Herne unhooked his lariat and began to swing it at his side. He winked at Buck, a wide grin on his face. "Time to have some real fun, Injun. Let's see what you're really made of!"_

_Gritting his teeth, Buck glared at the man, so hell bent on persecuting him. The years of prejudice he had suffered, since entering the white man's world, reflected in his dark eyes. No matter how hard he tried to alleviate people's fears of his bloodline, for everyone who accepted him, like his pony express friends, there was someone like Herne._

"_Come on now, Injun – play the game!" Herne goaded._

_He was trapped amidst the riders but they broke the circle, allowing him an exit. He took it, backing away uneasily, eyes darting from man to man, each wearing a face of malevolent pleasure._

_A holler went up, telling Buck this was the start of the pursuit. A burst of nervous adrenalin helped him to sprint from the hunters. With an innate sense of perception he managed to dodge the first couple of drunkenly tossed lassos. Swerving from side to side, continually changing direction, he managed to avoid being roped. Luckily most of the men had little roping experience and their aim was poor, hindered further by their drunken state._

_He scrabbled around in the dirt, looking for a footing, only to find a loop of flung rope next to him, the animated cries of the huntsmen echoing in his ears, their shrieks following him, their anticipation of the hunt tearing at his very inner being, taking him to the brink of despair. He was tiring quickly with the constant exertion of dodging lassos._

_It was then he felt the rope loop around him, pinning his arms to his sides and jerking him off his feet. This action was greeted with raucous laughter and whoops._

"_Good goin', Kyle! You done gone and got him!" one of the men congratulated the successful lasso thrower._

"_Let's see how quick you can truss him up like a steer!" another man encouraged._

_Buck managed to struggle to his feet only to have the rope about him yanked vigorously, bringing him to his knees. The next thing he knew was he was given a sharp kick in the side by Kyle, sending him crashing to the ground. As he gasped for breath his hands were pulled in front of him and the rope looped around his wrists, then pulled tight. He tried to fight back but he was weak with exhaustion and Kyle had no problem pressing his knee firmly onto Buck's chest, pinning him to the ground before wrapping the rope about his ankles, pulling up his knees, until he was well and truly secured in a foetal position. _

"_How's that?" Kyle said proudly, getting to his feet, holding his arms triumphantly in the air._

"_That's mighty impressive, Kyle! Perhaps you ought to go back ta ranch work. Looks like you was pretty good at it!" someone commented._

"_Nah! Too much like hard work and, hell, this is much more fun!" Kyle responded with a malevolent grin. "I think I deserve a drink after all that!"_

_A general cheer of agreement went up as the men tethered their horses and moved off a little way to the shade of some nearby trees, leaving their bound captive out in the searing heat of the mid-day sun. Buck lay as still as he could, not wanting to draw any attention his way and waited as the men got comfortable and started passing a bottle between them. After a little while, the alcohol and heat of the day took its toll and steady breathing and gentle snores came from the inebriated group._

_Buck bided his time as long as he could endure. His back, arms and legs all ached from being in the same position for so long. His hands and feet were numb due to the tightness of the ropes which bound them, cutting off the blood supply. He lay with his head on the dirt, his sweat drenched hair draped across his face and focussed on his breathing, trying to divert his attention from the dry, prickling in the back of his throat as his body screamed out for water._

_Silently he prayed to the spirits, giving one last pleading appeal to them to sustain him, asking them not to give up on him just yet and to answer his call for help. There seemed little hope of anyone passing by this remote spot and coming to his aid. If he was going to get out of this, he only had himself to rely on._

_His head swam with heat and exhaustion and he felt his mind drifting off into sub-consciousness, where he imagined himself lying in long, lush grass by a cool lake, a soft breeze blowing over his face. Suddenly his meandering thoughts were interrupted by a shrill cry. Dragging himself back to full consciousness he listened. There it was again. The cry of an eagle. He could not see it and was unable to move to search for it in the sky. It was unusual for the majestic bird to be found in such an open wilderness but he was sure he heard it call. The sound seemed to pierce his body through to the very core, giving a resurgence of energy and determination. _

_Closing his eyes tight, he took a deep breath and concentrated on the ropes. He would not give up. He would not let them win. With slow, painful movements he began to wriggle his hands, trying to loosen the ropes. The movement sent sharp, stabbing pains into his fingers but he persisted until the skin on his wrists was rubbed raw and slick with his own blood. The wetness served as a lubricant and after nearly an hour he felt the ropes slacken and slip down his hand a little way. Ten minutes later he had managed to manoeuvre both hands free. _

_He gasped as the ropes finally fell away as he was able to straighten up his body. His back protested as he stretched his neck, making him groan with discomfort but he fought against it and eventually felt his muscles respond. When he had the feeling back in his fingers and had checked to make sure the men were all still sleeping, he curled round and began to prise the binding about his ankles apart._

_It didn't take too long before the ropes fell away. Buck sat, hugging his knees, willing the feeling back into his legs. The grunts and snores of the men were the only intermittent sounds, which interrupted the stillness of the encroaching evening. As the sun sank lower and the shadows extended, the feeling slowly returned to Buck's limbs and he prepared to make his escape._

_He could hear the soft snorting of the tethered horses some ways behind the trees and slowly got into a crouching position in preparation to make his way towards them. Just as he made his first steps, a loud grunt came from the group of slumbering men. Buck froze. One of the men stirred, making an attempt to sit up and rubbed his face. _

_Buck stilled himself, afraid to breathe. To get to the horses he'd have to pass by the group of men. As he watched they became more restless. The only option now was to try and silently slip into the shadows of the coming night and hopefully try for one of the horses later. Crouching on his haunches, he kept his hands to the ground and eased himself towards a group of nearby boulders and stealthily slipped behind them. He pressed his back against the hard surface, his breathing hard and fast, his fists clenched by his side. So far, so good. The men still had not fully woken._

_He searched for the best route to take and headed towards another group of bigger rocks, which offered darker nooks and crannies. Just as he managed to crawl through a gap between two of the larger rocks he heard the cry go up._

"_Where the hell'd he go?"_

"_Damnation! Who was s'pposed to be watchin' him?"_

_Buck tried to sink deeper into the recesses, his heart pounding so wildly he feared they would hear it._

"_He's gotta be round here somewheres."_

_He tried to swallow as his heart pumped harder, feeling as if it was going to burst through his chest. He could hear the general commotion, of footsteps and hollers, as they began to search for him. One of the men ran passed the rocks, pausing briefly only a couple of yards from Buck but the shadows kept him hidden._

_Herne could be heard cursing his men, even though he had been equally negligent._

_The next few minutes felt like hours to Buck as the men continued their search. Somehow they missed him crammed in the recess of the rocks. Perhaps the spirits hadn't forsaken him after all. Slowly he felt able to breathe more steadily as the sounds of the men's voices moved further away. He debated making a move towards the horses but that would mean crossing an open space and risk being spotted. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the rock, which had kept him hidden and called on the spirits for guidance._

_The images that filled his mind were of a group of smiling, laughing faces, all sat chatting around a large table with steaming bowls of food in the middle. The image gave him a warm feeling of comfort. This was the place he wanted and needed to be – the Pony Express station._

_Glancing in the direction from which the calls of the men were coming, Buck came to the conclusion that the best course of action was to slink off in the covering darkness of the night, putting as much distance between them and himself, before the sun rose, revealing any tracks he might leave._

_As the voices receded, Buck cautiously inched his way out from between the boulders. Keeping to the shadows as much as possible, he made his way slowly out towards open ground, carefully picking his way between the rocks, so as to not make any sound that would attract the attention of the men. When he felt he was a safe distance away, he picked up the pace to a steady jog._

_Running through the darkest hours of the night, he used the luminous glow of the moon to the best of his advantage. By the time the rays of the rising sun edged the horizon, he had covered a good distance. The dawn brought both relief and dread – relief that he had lived to see a new day and dread of what that new day would bring. He took a moment to pray to the sun, giving thanks and asking for guidance but dared not linger too long._

_He resumed a steady pace, the light allowing him to move at a greater speed and cover more ground than had been possible at night. Every so often he glanced behind or put his ear to the ground, listening for his pursuers. He briefly allowed himself the hope that the men might have given up the chase but knew it would be dangerous to assume. By the position of the sun he knew it was approaching mid morning and the day grew increasingly hotter._

_His mind wandered once again to his friends at the Way station and he wondered what they were all doing. No doubt Teaspoon would have found some activity to fill their time. There was no one scheduled to ride that day so they would all be there. Was anyone thinking of him, he wondered? Ike most probably would be, knowing his friend should have made it back to the station the previous night but it was not unusual for the riders to return a little late when they weren't carrying any mail, so no one would be unduly worried about him. No hope of them sending out a search party yet, he decided despondently._

_The surrounding area became more recognizable and Buck realised he could only be a few miles from the station. He also remembered there was a stream close by and he was desperately in need of water. The sun was almost directly overhead by now and its searing heat made Buck increasingly uncomfortable. Making sure he had covered his tracks he changed direction towards the stream, keeping to the harder surface of rocks wherever possible. He felt bone weary but the need for water was a great motivator and he kept walking until he picked up the burbling sound of the stream._

_Sinking thankfully to his knees at the edge of the stream he dropped his head into the water and drank thirstily. When he felt he'd had his fill, he cupped his hands and splashed his face and rubbed the cool water onto the back of his neck. Lifting his face to the cloudless, blue sky, he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath of momentary relief. Kneeling before the flowing waters, hands resting on his knees, he gathered his thoughts and pondered his plight._

_The temptation to lie where he was and sleep was overwhelming but his survival instinct was greater. He knew he had to keep moving. Wishing he had something to carry some of the water in, he got to his feet, his tired legs protesting as he did so, and reluctantly left the stream behind. Keeping to a walk, he tried to ignore the aches in various parts of his body, which complained at the further demands he made on them. Once again he contemplated resting a while but then something alerted him. At first he wasn't sure what had caught his attention. He stood still and listened but all seemed still and quiet, save for the occasional call of a bird or the rustle of a breeze through the grasses. Then he heard it again, carried on the air - the unmistakable sound of men's shouts. His entire body seemed to tense and he held his breath as he strained to discern how far away they were. The sound came again, this time married with the sound of hoof beats and they were getting closer._

_For a few moments Buck stood rooted to the spot, unable to believe they had caught up with him so quickly. He thought he had been diligent in covering his tracks. Perhaps the spirits weren't looking out for him as well as he had hoped. Flicking his tongue across his lips in frustration, he cursed quietly and let out a resigned sigh before moving off, this time at a run. It was only a couple more miles to the Way station and safety …._

Buck's eyes flew open, breathing in short, sharp rasps. Releasing a gasp, he slowly took in that he was safely in the bunkhouse, in his own bunk, not out on the plains, running. He concluded he must have dozed off at some point and for a moment he thought it had just been a bad dream but the injuries to his wrists and feet told him it had been all too real. It was getting dark in the bunkhouse and he realised he must have been asleep for a few hours. There was no sign of the other riders. Emma must have given them their supper over at her house to allow him to rest and he was thankful for her consideration. Pushing himself up to a sitting position, he grimaced as the aches and pains made themselves known. Stiffly he swung his legs over the side of the bunk and sat gathering his thoughts for a while. When his muscles had relaxed some, he rose onto his feet, steadying himself on the bunk post.

He padded to the door, his discomfort all too clear in his twisted expression. The need to breathe the cool fresh night air was strong and as the door swung open he inhaled deeply. After the many hours of laboured breathing he had endured, it was intoxicating to breathe so freely. In the dim light of evening he could see the soft, comforting glow of oil lamps in the window of Emma's house. The posts of the corral were silhouetted against the sky and the reassuring sounds of soft snorts and gentle click of hooves came from the horses – so different from the pounding hoof beats that had pursued him so relentlessly recently.

But that was all over. He had made it back and, thanks to his friends, he was safe. He swallowed down the lump of emotion, which threatened. It had been a long time since he had felt this secure. He wondered if he ever really had been. His mother had only been able to protect him to a certain extent from the looks, comments and assaults from the other members of the tribe who had looked down on him so disdainfully. His brother had chosen to close his eyes to it, so as to make his own life easier. The other Express riders had wanted to know what had happened to him and had, in fact, been disappointed when he had not told them. It was unusual to have others, apart from Ike, show so much concern. It might take a while to get used to it, he mused.

Slumping down on the top step of the bunkhouse and leaning against the porch post, Buck took another look about him. This was really a home, a place to belong, to be needed and wanted. A soft smile creased his lips.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps and he looked up to see Jimmy Hickok appear around the side of the bunkhouse, returning from the outhouse. The gunslinger's attention was on fixing the fastening on his pants and he started when he realised Buck was there.

He inclined his head Buck's way in greeting. "See you decided to wake up!" he mumbled.

Buck gave a small smile and nodded his response.

"You okay?"

"I guess."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Nope."

Jimmy didn't push but accepted Buck's answer without question. He was a man of few words himself and didn't often share his own troubles. Taking a seat on the step, next to Buck, they sat in companionable silence for a while.

"The others are over at Emma's playin' cards," Jimmy offered in explanation of their absence. "Emma said we ought ta leave ya ta rest."

Buck dipped his head in response.

Both young men sat staring out into the gloom that enveloped the open ground about them for a while. Eventually Jimmy interrupted the silence once more.

"It was pretty rough out there, wasn't it?" he asked.

Lowering his eyes and, in little more than a whisper, Buck replied, "I didn't think I'd be seeing this place ever again."

"Yeah. Know that feeling," Jimmy offered, his voice soft with understanding.

Buck flicked a look in Hickok's direction before returning his gaze downwards. He wanted to tell someone what had happened but wasn't sure Jimmy was the right person. They'd had their differences since joining the Pony Express and Buck wasn't sure he knew him well enough. He wasn't sure anyone knew this man or would ever truly know him.

An awkward silence ensued, each lost in his own thoughts, until Jimmy broke it again.

"How'd you live with it? People judging you because of the colour of your skin, without them really knowing you?" The question was asked with true sincerity and Buck was temporarily taken aback.

After a moment's deliberation he responded, "The same way you do."

Jimmy regarded Buck with a puzzled look.

"When people look at me they can't see past the 'Indian'. When they look at you, all they see is a gunfighter."

It was Jimmy's turn to glance at Buck in consideration. Returning his gaze off into the distance, he quietly replied, "Guess we've got more in common than we realised, huh?"

Buck offered a sidelong look at his friend and let out a soft chuckle. "I guess!"

Jimmy pursed his lips and gave a single affirmative nod.

Buck dropped his gaze and studied his hands and clasped them together.

"Thanks," he said softly.

Jimmy frowned, not sure if he'd heard the Kiowa properly. "For what?"

"Standing up for me like you did … you and Cody."

"Yeah, well, you'd have done the same and iffen I'd left it to Cody it woulda been a whole different story," Jimmy responded jovially.

" 'Ppreciate it all the same. Ike's the only one who's ever been there for me before."

"Ike? Yeah, well you could do a whole lot worse than havin' Ike on your side. He's one of the good guys," came Jimmy's heartfelt retort.

"Think there's a whole lot of good guys 'round here," Buck told him sincerely.

They lapsed into silence once more, reflecting on what had been said, as a new bond was forged between the two and an innate understanding of each other's position.

"Emma put some food by for ya," Jimmy suddenly said, standing up abruptly. "You gonna come over to the house and join us?"

"Yeah. I'll be over in a little while. Better pull some clothes on first, I guess!" Buck raised an eyebrow and smirked at him, regarding his long john clad body.

Jimmy returned the smile and nodded and began to amble back towards the house. Buck watched him go. As Jimmy entered the house, the sound of happy chatter and laughter filtered out of the doorway, hanging on the cool night air. He got to his feet and glanced over at the house before making his way back inside the bunkhouse to find some clean clothes to put on, so he could join the others.

He remembered telling his brother that he and the other Pony Express riders lived together, ate together and fought together – they were like one. Now he knew how true those words had been. Red Bear had told him to never look back once he had made his decision to stay in the white world but he would never forget his brother and what he had taught him. He'd never thought he'd fit in anywhere again after leaving the Kiowa, but the he wanted and needed to belong here.

He didn't have to tell the other riders what had happened. Perhaps one day he would but, for now, it was enough that they were there for him and accepted him, seeing his spirit not his colour. They were more than just people he worked with and more than just friends. They were like family and this place had become his sanctuary.


End file.
